See Me in Your Dreams

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Freshening up in record time, Keelin dressed with a renewed sense of purpose. Tyler couldn't keep her from returning to Wicker Park with him! She almost felt like going it alone, taking a taxi and letting him wonder what she knew.

  Almost.

  It still galled her that he'd refused to show her the ransom note the night before. Had refused to divulge any information other than the Friday night deadline. He knew she was committed, for heaven's sake. Nevermind that he swore he was only trying to protect her from herself.

  She'd believed him when he said he trusted her. So why couldn't he have proved as much?

  The smell of fresh coffee assaulted her nose when she left Cheryl's room. Normally a tea drinker herself, Keelin occasionally indulged in a cup of the stronger stuff. And so she swept into the kitchen and made straight for the mug tree, noting that not only was an exhausted-looking Tyler at the table, but his ex-wife, as well. Nursing a mug of coffee, a belligerent expression detracting from her beauty, Helen was still in her bathrobe.

  "Have you heard anything from your Mr. Weaver?" Keelin asked, her voice tight with irritation left over from the ransom note issue.

  She filled a mug for herself. Tyler's eyebrows shot up as he watched.

  "He's not my Mr. Weaver and yes, he checked in," Tyler groused. "He found a woman who maybe saw Cheryl but couldn't remember where."

  Keelin softened when she realized how frustrated the man sounded. Perhaps he did have her best interests at heart by not wanting her along on the ransom drop. Only she didn't happen to agree with the decision.

  Leaning against the counter where she'd stacked the wine bottles the day before, Keelin said, "The apartment is across from a church."

  "What?"

  "The apartment where Cheryl is being kept."

  "You know where my baby is?" Helen demanded.

  "Not exactly. Not yet." Keelin looked to Tyler. "But now we can find it."

  "What are we waiting for?" Taking the mug from Keelin's hand, Tyler set it down on the counter and turned her toward the front door.

  "What about me?" Helen asked, getting to her feet. "I can't go dressed like this."

  His expression cold, Tyler said, "You weren't invited."

  "She's my daughter, too!" Helen screamed. "I may have been at fault letting her get lost the first time, but she was in your custody when she ran away and got herself kidnapped. What kind of a parent does that make you?"

  Helen's emotional outburst struck a responsive chord in Keelin and she regretted suspecting her. No matter what mistakes the woman had made, she did seem to care about what happened to her daughter. Still, she didn't try to convince Tyler that they should take his ex-wife along. No more wanting to be in Helen's company than he did, she kept her peace as they started off.

  They were well on the road before Tyler opened up the conversation. "We had it out this morning. I told Helen that when we found Cheryl, I planned on telling her that her mother is alive...if she doesn't already know."

  "Then Helen won't be able to blackmail you any longer."

  "No. She's off the gravy train. She'll have to take me back to court to get another penny out of me. I won't make things easy for her. Or for myself."

  No wonder his ex-wife had appeared so truculent. Her source of income was gone. And Keelin had imagined all that concern was for Cheryl. More fool she.

  "So tell me about the dream."

  "I didn't dream last night," Keelin said. "I woke up remembering the church steeple from the dream I had when we were returning from Wicker Park."

  "What about other details?"

  He didn't need the ones about Cheryl's being tied and gagged, Keelin assured herself. "She was looking at the television, then out the window. That's all."

  She wondered if he noticed the color stealing up her neck. Burning, Keelin shifted and sank lower in her seat, grateful that Tyler didn't pursue it. To her everlasting gratitude, he didn't say much the rest of the way to the Wicker Park area.

  After crossing the six corner intersection, he said, "I'll turn at the first side street and drive straight. I'll stay methodical unless one of us spots a church."

  The first church they encountered stood across from old mansions and two-flats. Several more blocks of zigzagging the area, and they spotted a second church. Keelin looked to the other side of the street.

  "A six flat," she murmured. "And it has a stoop!"

  Tyler immediately pulled the Jaguar into the only available parking spot on the block.

  Keelin's pulse lurched as they approached the building. The church's steeple lay directly across from the third floor apartments. Tyler held the outer door open for her. When she saw the chipped marble stairs in the vestibule, her excitement rose.

  He quickly inspected the mail boxes and bells. "Look, no name on 3B."

  "That must be it."

  The inner door didn't close properly, so they walked right in. With each step upward, Keelin's heartbeat accelerated and she sensed Tyler's tension increase. When they rounded the second landing, she put a hand on his arm. His features were set in a grim line and yet somehow his glance told of so much more. Hope for Cheryl. Gratitude toward her.

  Upon reaching the second landing, Tyler held a hand out, indicating she should stay back. Keelin complied. She tried to breathe normally, but each intake of air was forced.

  And when Tyler knocked on the door to 3B, she forgot to breathe altogether.

  No response.

  Tyler knocked again, harder.

  Nothing.

  His third set-to shook the wooden panel in its frame, but still it roused no one.

  "Damn!" His fist shot into the door. "We've got to find someone with a key."

  Just then, the door across the way cracked open. Behind the chain, an elderly lady peeped out. Keelin recognized the woman even as she said, "Go away before I call the police!"

  "I saw her before," Keelin whispered to Tyler. "I mean Cheryl did when she tried getting away."

  "I don't mean anyone harm," Tyler assured the neighbor. "I'm just looking for my daughter."

  "No one there. Left earlier."

  "Maybe Cheryl is inside alone." Tyler raised his voice. "Cheryl, baby, are you in there?" he called, putting his ear to the panel.

  Keelin strained but heard not the slightest sound. Disappointment filled her until Tyler tried the knob and the door opened readily. He stepped inside the apartment. She followed directly behind him.

  "You can't go in there!" the elderly neighbor called after them.

  Keelin looked around, recognizing the shabby furniture in the unoccupied living room. The doors to the bedrooms and bath stood open. They were unoccupied as well.

  "Damn!" Tyler exploded. "They've moved her!"

  "We were getting too close," Keelin proposed. "Or perhaps Jack Weaver did last night."

  Tyler didn't try to hide his disgust. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

  Keelin wanted to put her arms around him, but the stiff way he held himself was anything but an invitation. Comforting him could wait a while. She followed him into the hall and noticed the elderly lady was still peering out at them. No doubt she paid attention to anyone coming or going.

  Keelin caught Tyler's arm to stop him from running off. "This man is looking for his child," she told the woman. "The people who rented that apartment are holding her against her will. We need to find them, but we don't know their names or what they look like."

  The silver-haired head shook vigorously. "I can't help you."

  "You must have seen something. Think hard," Keelin pleaded. "We're talking about a fourteen year old girl."

  "Don't wanna get involved," the neighbor muttered, though she appeared torn.

  "Please."

  The woman looked them both up and down as if judging the veracity of their story before making up her mind. "Don't know any names. They were only there maybe two weeks. In and out a lot. Never got a good look at him, though."

  "But you did get a good look at so
meone," Tyler urged.

  "The girl, once. And the woman. She didn't belong in this building."

  "Why not?" Keelin asked.

  "Her clothes. Too fancy."

  "Can you describe her?"

  "Pretty girl with a good figure. Blonde. That's all I gotta say."

  "Wait a minute." Tyler objected too late. The woman closed the door in his face. "I could use the name and number of the management." When his raised request received no response, he said, "Come on."

  "Should we ask someone else?"

  "It's probably not necessary."

  She didn't understand until they exited the building and he checked the side. High up, a plaque announced the building was being managed by Damen Realty.

  A moment later they were on their way out of the neighborhood and heading for his office. Tyler used the cellular car phone to call the authorities. He demanded they go over the apartment with a fine tooth comb and check out the identities of whoever rented the place with the realty company, as well. Keelin could tell he didn't like whatever response he was getting.

  Dropping the cellular, Tyler confirmed her suspicion. "They need a court order to get into the place and might need the same for the realty."

  "The authorities must abide by the law."

  "If you ask me, the law is too slow."

  "That they are," Keelin agreed. "Why did you not give them the woman's description?"

  "Maybe I should have given them her real name, as well," Tyler said caustically. "Except that, without absolute proof, I doubt the police would believe Vivian Claiborne was mixed up with something as sordid as kidnapping."

  Frustrated that they were stopped cold after such a promising start, Keelin wondered if Skelly might be of some help in getting the information on the kidnappers his way.

  The Jaguar was soon crawling in the heavy traffic of Lincoln Park West.

  "I can't wait for whatever the authorities come up with, Keelin. I'm going to spend my day seeing to the ransom money. My gut tells me I'm going to need it if I want her back."

  "So you won't need me."

  He glanced her way, his expression astonished. "That's not true. I do need you, Keelin. I told you so."

  "Then take me with you when you deliver the ransom," she said stubbornly.

  "But I won't put you in unnecessary danger. The last note was very specific about being alone if I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

  Keelin didn't continue to plague Tyler as she was tempted to do, merely waited until his vehicle was settled in the car park and they exited onto Clark Street.

  "I shall leave you to your money gathering," she said.

  Tyler already seemed distracted. "What about you?"

  "I'll ring you later."

  He gave her shoulders a squeeze and brushed her temple with his lips. "I'll miss you."

  Keelin wouldn't let him soften her so easily. "You'll be too busy."

  "Never too busy to think of you."

  Never was an interminable amount of time. Knowing they didn't have that long to be together, Keelin wriggled free of his arm. "You have currency to collect, remember?"

  She waited until he'd disappeared inside the L&O Realty offices before heading for the corner and the bus stop. She counted out exact change and slipped the coins into her pocket, then fished for two more quarters to buy a newspaper from a box. She was about to drop the money into the slot, when she spotted Brock Olander on the street.

  Furtively glancing over his shoulder as if afraid of being caught – by Tyler? – he then flagged down a taxi going south, and she caught a glint – a watch? – on his wrist.

  He didn't see her.

  Instinct and another convenient taxi waiting for the light to change convinced Keelin to find out where Tyler's partner might be headed. She raced across the street, waved over the yellow vehicle and hopped into the back seat.

  "Follow that vehicle," she ordered her driver, a young Hispanic whose hair was shaved in lightning patterns around his head.

  "Follow that cab." He pulled down his meter flag and gave her a gap-toothed grin.

  "Pardon me?"

  "In the flicks, they always say, 'follow that cab.'"

  Amused despite the intensity of the situation, Keelin said, "Very well, then. Follow that cab."

  Her vehicle lurched and shot forward. She sat back and kept an eye on Brock's taxi now nearly a block ahead. Several cars had cut between them.

  "You a spy or something?" the driver asked, skillfully maneuvering his taxi so that they'd passed two of those cars by the following intersection.

  "No, of course not. Why would you think such a thing?"

  "You got a accent. You're followin' someone." His eyes shifted from the traffic to the rear view mirror so he could get a better look at her. He smirked. "Ah-h, I get it. Boyfriend or husband trouble?"

  "Both," Keelin impulsively lied. Her cheeks warmed.

  "Don't worry. A pretty lady like you deserves a break," the driver said, gaining on another passenger car.

  Fortunately, Brock didn't go very far and Keelin's driver stayed with him. A few blocks from her hotel in the Gold Coast, he alighted from his taxi and disappeared into an elegant old building. Her taxi slid to the curb, the driver keeping the vehicle a discreet distance back.

  Handing him more money than the meter required, Keelin said, "Wait for me," and slipped out of the back seat.

  "I'll keep the motor running," the driver promised with another grin.

  Keelin approached the building cautiously lest Brock spot her. But when she peered through the front door's glass insets, he was nowhere in sight. She entered the brass-trimmed wood and marble vestibule, thinking to look for a directory that might give her a clue as to whom he'd come to see. But the offices beyond held only a single tenant.

  Nathan Feldman Associates.

  NATE FELDMAN SPRAWLED BACK in his leather chair, tempted to put his feet up on his marble desk and shout Hallelujah! But he held himself in check – wouldn't do to show how much this deal had meant to him – and lit a fresh cigar instead.

  "Help yourself," he told Brock between puffs, indicating the fancy hand-carved cigar box that he'd picked up in Rio.

  "Thanks."

  Brock didn't look so good. His skin was pasty. And his hand trembled slightly as he took the cigar. He didn't even light it, rather stared down at the rolled tobacco as if he didn't know what to do with it.

  "Congratulations. I wasn't convinced you were up to the task. You even got the Uptown project. Good show!"

  Brock's expression spelled guilt. "Tyler's had everything his way almost from the beginning."

  Was that justification or regret he heard in the other man's voice? Nate wondered. Too late for him to back up now. Regret wouldn't fix things. Wouldn't bring that Smialek kid back to life, either.

  "I expect you'll be out of L&O Realty first thing next week."

  "So soon," Brock muttered, now sounding uncertain.

  Nate figured he'd better boost the man's ego before he had a change of heart. "I understand a man has professional needs, Brock," he said heartily. "Our partnership will give you exactly what you deserve.

  Brock nodded. "Your believing in me the way Tyler never did means a lot."

  What a patsy! Nate thought.

  More to the point, their temporary partnership would give him the satisfaction of getting even. Of gaining clients that Leighton would hate to lose. Hopefully Smialek's law suit would drive the nail in Leighton's coffin, put him out of business completely and for good.

  "Listen," Brock said, stuffing the cigar into the breast pocket of his jacket. "I'd better get back before Tyler suspects something."

  "He's too preoccupied thinking about the kid."

  "Still..."

  Nate nodded. He lifted the briefcase and placed it on his desk. Then he slid a contract toward Brock.

  "Sign on the dotted line and it's all yours."

  Hesitating only a moment, Brock signed and took the briefcase. "Here's to
success."

  Nate wouldn't argue with that. The moment the door closed behind the chump, he put his feet up on his desk.

  "Hallelujah!"

  Success in ruining Tyler Leighton had been his goal all along.

  BROCK SET THE BRIEFCASE on Tyler's desk and opened it. Neat stacks of bills filled half the interior.

  "A quarter of a million in cash like you asked for. Now, about that agreement..."

  Tyler handed Brock a written guarantee that he would cooperate in dissolving the partnership. It also listed the assets that each would take with him, including the Uptown renovation that had been Tyler's baby.

  "I wish you'd rethink things," he said, even though he needed the money for Cheryl. "I meant it when I said we could work this partnership out. You could consider this money a loan."

  Having done some soul-searching, he guessed Brock had been right to be dissatisfied. He only wished he'd come to his senses sooner, or that Brock had insisted on having a serious discussion about the situation, before things had come to a head.

  "I've done enough thinking. I just want to get this over with." His face pasty, Brock skimmed the signed agreement and nodded. "I expect we'll get the ball rolling first thing next week."

  Tyler couldn't believe it. He didn't even have his daughter back. What had happened to Brock? When had he become so hard-hearted?

  "Next week," he promised.

  Agreement in hand, Brock left, not looking nearly as happy as Tyler might have expected. He wasted no time in opening his office safe and securing the briefcase. He would personally pick up the rest of the money the next day. He'd no sooner locked the safe when Alma buzzed him. Fearing that she would tell him that Helen was insisting on speaking to him again – she'd interrupted him twice so far – he was relieved to learn that Jack Weaver was in the reception area.

  "Send him right in, Alma."

  When the private investigator stepped foot through the door, he was wearing a satisfied smile. "I'm pretty sure I found the building where your daughter's being held."

  Not having expected such luck, Tyler started. "Where?"

  Weaver's "It's a six-flat about a block off North Avenue" tempered his excitement, and when the investigator gave the address, he was totally deflated.